


A Prayer

by oh_captain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Stiles, M/M, Magical Lydia Martin, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mary Sue, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:03:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_captain/pseuds/oh_captain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles couldn't feel his legs, but he knew they were bloody. He couldn't feel anything but Panic. Couldn't think, couldn't-- God, he couldn't breathe. He just knew they were close behind him and he had to escape. Had to survive.</p><p>Pulling in harsh gasps, his voice found its way up to spill out old Greek words that ended right as his foot caught on a branch and everything went black when the ground swallowed him.</p><p>That's just great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And that is how the world ended, not with a bang but with a whimper

Stiles sat in the middle of the living room, everyone crowding for a spot. Of course, 'everyone' was a much smaller number than ever. It used to be Scott, Jackson, Cora, Lydia, Stiles, Danny, Kira, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Derek, Peter, Melissa, Sheriff and Allison. But Erica, Boyd, Allison and the sheriff were all dead and buried, Jackson, Cora and Isaac were in Europe somewhere, Melissa retired to Florida, Kira quickly got out with her family while she could and what used to be a pack of 15 was now six.

So there wasn't much crowding going on, mostly, Peter took up almost the entire couch, except where his feet where in Stiles lap, Lydia's shoulder was on his left knee and Scott's head was in her lap and Derek had Scott's feet in his lap. Danny had the popcorn and was somewhere between Derek and Lydia, just managing not to block Scott's view. They were all comfortable while The Lorax started. This was what was left of their family. To think Scott, Stiles, Lydia and Danny were only 17-18 year olds was a sad thought for all of those lost. To think they had survived this long...

When Derek and Peter suddenly stiffened, followed by Scott, Lydia grabbed the weapons from under the couch. She gave Danny his rifle, looking to meet his eyes before pulling out a metal bat and giving it to Stiles, meeting his eyes also, knowing the wolfsbane lanced metal would be his only protection. She then pulled out her potions she'd had Deaton show her how to make. Everyone stood and Derek pointed to the back, knowing they could figure he meant go out the back. Him, Peter and Lydia went forward towards the front while Scott Danny and Stiles all started towards the back.

It felt wrong to be so on guard in a place they always viewed as a safe haven. As a sanctuary from crazy things that went bump in the night. That something would desecrate their home and border was making all of their stomachs flip. 

Quickly, everyone got out, when Stiles first saw them. The enemy.

They were pale, stark and albino under the quarter moons light, dressed in neutral tones, tall and lithe. They were beautiful in a twisted way, in a macabre style. There was paint on their faces and Stiles stomach rolled as he identified it as blood. Scott noticed immediately too, face twisting and He shoved them in the opposite direction of the creatures. 

"They smell like death," He whispered so lowly that Stiles would have missed it if it hadn't been right next to his ear, hushed in the silence of the night.

Silence. 

Stiles gulped, there were no crickets, or birds, there was nothing but the intermingling of their breath, the pounding of their feet as they managed to avoid tree branches and leaves, no crunch, no nothing. Silence.

And that's when pale, long fingers wrapped around Danny's upper arm and yanked him back. Pulling away from their group, their small divided pack.

And that's when pale, long fingers tore into Danny's chest and pulled out his still beating heart, regardless of Danny's screams, or his thrashing. Of his pleas to God, to Scott even to Stiles, reaching out for them. Cries that stopped, pleas that ended.

And that's when pale, long fingers, now coated in blood, pushed the heart past white lips to swallow it whole.

Stiles looked to Scott when the fae let Danny's body drop, meeting his best friends eyes. Scott nodded and shoved him forward, mouth opening to form words that barely registered to Stiles.

"RUN! PLEASE STILES RUN!" Scott screamed. 

Stiles didn't need any further prompting to bolt. He didn't look back. At this point listening to his alpha's orders and self preservation was all that mattered. Plus, nothing could really get past Scott. Not anymore.

The first time he fell, he screamed thinking they were going to get him. He felt something go into his leg, and his hand was already pulling it out, back up in a few seconds to slam his body into a tree, the wind knocked out of him. He was so scared.

But after a few seconds-minutes-hours- of running he saw the pale lithe figures in the trees next to him, catching up. 

Stiles couldn't feel his legs, but he knew they were bloody. He couldn't feel anything but Panic. Couldn't think, couldn't-- God, he couldn't breathe. He just knew they were close behind him and he had to escape. Had to survive.

Pulling in harsh gasps, his voice found its way up to spill out old Greek words that ended right as his foot caught on a branch and everything went black when the ground swallowed him.

That's just great.

 


	2. i held an atlas in my lap ran my fingers across the whole world and whispered where does it hurt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blinking tears from his eyes, he looked at the sky and cursed it for being so cruel as to shine. Didn't it know better?

Stiles sat up fast, feeling radiating pain.

The forest around him had birds chirping and he looked down at his blood crusted body. He was in Scott's shorts and Derek's old BHHS hoodie and Peter's shirt was on him underneath, Lydia's scrunchie on his wrist and Danny's necklace on his neck. He was surrounded by pack things and somehow it made him feel a sense of desperation to see them all, safe and unharmed.

He laid back down, happy to be alive for just a second before his heart sank. 

Danny wasn't alive. 

Scott... Derek... Peter... Lydia...

He didn't know who was left.

Blinking tears from his eyes, he looked at the sky and cursed it for being so cruel as to shine. Didn't it know better?

* * *

 

Maybe he should have moved, but he didn't see the point. He spent hours laying there, the sun high in the sky, slowly moving, sinking, throat feeling like he had eaten hot coals. What was the point of moving when everyone was probably dead. And here he was, laying down safe and unharmed practically. There was nothing, no reason to budge. Not until a ball hit him right in the side, knocking the breathe out of him and causing him to roll into a pain filled ball.

"Oh my God! Cora!" A woman gasped and hands hovered above Stiles.

Not pale hands covered in blood, but tan hands that were dainty, if not a bit worn. 

"Are you okay? Where does it hurt?" The woman gasped and all of the sudden Stiles was crying. He didn't care, the physical pain wasn't that bad, but fuck, now he had to move and maybe explain and he'd have to go home and see that nothing was left, and his heart hurt, and there was a pit in his stomach that ached at how hard the ball had slammed into him, and his head was pounding and he just wanted his pack.

The words were pulled from him in sobs. "Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere."

The hands went to his head, running through his hair, soothing. He was pulled closer by arms and he crawled into the person, trying to find shelter from this-this hell.

The arms were attached to the petite body of a woman and she quickly pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back.

"What's your name?" She asked.

"Stiles," He managed.

 "Do you need to go to the hospital?" The woman asked. 

"No." He wetly affirmed. He blinked his eyes free from tears to see the woman come into view. A woman he distinctly remembered unburying and finding half naked, mostly because she was torn in half but... 

"Laura," he murmured.

The woman blinked at him before tilting her head a little. "Do I know you?" She asked, slightly confused.

Stiles sat up, using skinned palms to crawl back, pulling away fast to see Cora. Cora who was here and not in Europe. And she looked guilty and confused, meaning she'd heard them talking, which meant werewolves.

But Laura... and Cora... together at that.

 "What's going on? Where am I?" Stiles demanded, quickly filled with panic and adrenaline, managing to stand on his wounded legs that shook a little before he stumbled back. 

"Calm down, Stiles, we're friends," Laura raised her hands, as if to tame a wild animal. But the moment her hands came up, he was gone. 

Stiles let his legs carry him, running through the trees, trying to find a safe hiding spot, running in the afternoon heat, crusted in blood and dirt, sweat making dirt drain down his temples into his peripherals. This was not good. He had used a spell to get to safety, to jump time. These two girls should not be here. He needed to think about everything, he needed to figure out what was wrong, what was left and where the fuck Scott was. 

Finally his shoes found pavement and he was on a road and that's when his legs gave out and gravel embedded itself into his knees. 

Swiveling his head to look around, he saw the police cruiser starting his way from down the street.

That's not right, Parrish, some sort of supernatural policeman, knew to stay out of Hale territory unless called.

None of this was making sense. He wanted to be with his pack, in familiar arms, with the hitched breathing of Scott from years of asthma, with Lydia's peaceful in and out, Danny's deep ins and shallow outs, Peters thumb running small circles into Stiles back. 

"PETER!" He called. The name bounced off all of the trees surrounding him. "SCOTT!" The new name replaced the dying echo of the one before it. "LYDIA!" He tried again. "DEREK!" He had to keep trying. "Peter..." he tried one last time, the name a whisper that rubbed wrong in his throat, vocal chords throbbing from the force the words had escaped him. 

The cruiser stopped as it got closer, door opening and Tara falling out.

Tara was dead though. 

"Whoa!" She stated, arms going up before going towards Stiles. "And what's your name?" She asked.

"Tara, it's me, it's Stiles," he puffed out, looking to her. He felt dizzy, like he needed to run again. But Tara, so familiar, was something he needed. A familiar face. 

"Stiles..." she gave him a shocked look after a moment of nothing but a blank face."You're alive?" She looked him over before coming forward to hug him. And he held on.

He held on for his life.


	3. No home sweet and no sweet home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles let Tara adjust the blankets on his shoulders while he stared at his mom and dad. He watched them talking to the current deputy, someone Stiles didn't recognize. 
> 
> Not that it mattered, because he was too busy staring at his mom and his dad.

Stiles sat in Tara's car, filled with curiosity and pain and worry and panic and everything was becoming numb. Numb, he wished it would completely swallow him and take away all the aches in him.

Anytime he closed his eyes, he would see Danny. He would see different ways of his pack members dying. 

The scary part was, Laura Hale was alive. As well as Tara. Which led Stiles to thinking that he was dead and this was the afterlife.

Maybe the fae did get him. But last he checked Cora was still alive and well in Europe with Isaac and Chris Argent. 

And then there was also the spell he said. He was sure he recognized it, but he didnt remember from where, or what they meant. It was instinct to say them, and he was sure it was important, but he couldnt remember why. He couldn't remember it now. And it might have even not done anything at all.

The fact of the matter is, there was a strong possibility he was dead and no one cared because anybody who would care is probably also dead or grieving the loss of more than one pack member. 

Stiles breathed in harshly after a second, causing Tara to look over at him in concern. He pressed his hand to the window and watched the town come into view. 

"Tara, can you tell me what happened?" He asked. Best figure out how to spin this. Have a better understanding of his surroundings.

Tara looked to him before pressing her lips together in a thin line and nodding. "Almost 11 years ago, there was a car accident. You were involved, but your body was never recovered so everyone thought you were dead. You were in the car with your grandparents, your mom and dad had sent you with them so your mom could get medical treatment. She turned out to be fine in the end, but..." she shook her head looking to him. 

"I'm a hellava sight to see," he murmured softly, letting his forehead touch down on the glass, hand still pressed to it. His body was never found?

Tara laughed and nodded. 

* * *

 

Stiles let Tara adjust the blankets on his shoulders while he stared at the current deputy. He watched him talking to his parents, a smile on the unknown mans face smile at him and the ground and the other cops. Apperently the reaction on the other end was good.

Not that it mattered, because he was planning on leaving before either of his parents got here. It was just cruel to shove these people he carried about and had just gotten over losing, back in his face.

His mother was alive and old and his father was alive and old and Laura was alive and Tara was alive and-and this didn't make sense. And it kind of made the ache turn into a constant sharp pain in his chest, and his head spin, and his heart flutter and all he could do was let Tara pull the blanket over a dirty shoulder and huttle into himself.

He remembered burying both of them, he remember how Melissa had sobbed into his neck when they lowered the casket, flinching slightly every time someone clapped his arm or touched his hand. He remembered Scott prying him from his house the months afterward before finally giving up and waiting for Stiles to come out on his own.

He couldn't breathe just thinking about it. 

He didn't know where he was. He knew he was in the police station and that his parents were coming to get him and they were waiting for someone from the hospital to give him an over view. That was it.

When the station doors opened, he saw a random nurse, who smiled at him and started over.

"Stiles Stilinski? I'm Dan, from the hospital. Now listen, I'm just gonna give you a little check over if you don't mind coming with me to the bathroom for some privacy?"

Stiles felt numb at those words. 

"What?" He managed weakly. He felt his stomach churn and his mouth dry up.

Dan looked down at him, face scrunching in worry as he took in Stiles expression. 

"I know this is moving sort of fast for you, but if you'd follow me," Dan repeated, voice soft.

The room blurred and twisted and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't focus. The room was closing in on him, he couldn't...

He gently moved Dan aside, standing up to start towards the door, towards fresh air. 

"Do you mind if I just walk around first? I just need some air," Stiles rasped.

Dan blinked before nodding, letting Stiles make his way towards the door.

Deaton.

The name hit him like a train. If all these people who weren't supposed to be here, Deaton surely was.

Deaton would know what to do. He could offer help. Stiles would make him.

"Stiles, wait!" Tara's voice made him freeze. He turned to her, blinking owlishly.

"We just got you back, please, don't run off," She whispered.

"It's okay, I just need some fresh air, I'll be right back," He managed dumbly, hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. "I'll be right back," he repeated the lie.

She stared for a moment, watching him with teary fearful eyes, like he would fly away or disappear if she looked anywhere but at him. If she let him out of her sight for an instant, she looked like her world would crash. Instead she nodded tightly, offering a smile, murmuring an 'Okay' and watching him go out the door. After all, he was her big break.

Stiles started his jog there, trying to move on wobbly injured legs. The adernaline was wearing off, and he just was starting to feel tired.

The vet's clinic sat there with a familiar camaro parked in front. That quickened Stiles pace, enough so that he almost tripped when he came to a stop.

The camaro had been smashed to bits when a troll had come to claim the nemeton. The familarity of the objects were too comforting, and he kept forgetting.

It was just a lot to take in. Everything was wrong. Cora and Laura were both here, alive and unharmed, his mom and dad were alive, the deputy was someone he didn't know. This was all so wrong. And... and this Stiles was dead.

He paused, taking in sharp breaths. The pieces started clicking together. The spell.... It had taken him somewhere else. This wasn't his world, his time line. This was another... another fucking dimension. Another reality entirely. None of this was his. Of course it wasn't. Which, sadly, kind of made sense to him. 

If he died, in return, nothing bad would have happened to his mom or Scott or anyone else. A life for roughly 50 others.

That was a knife to the stomach. He bit his lip before shaking his head. He had to continue, he had to get home. He had to see if everyone... was alive. He had to. 

He'd figure out what the spell was, and it must have worked. It was a time and space spell, old and power absorbing and the thought caused a whole new panic in his chest.

It made this visit more important.

He pushed open the vet's door and walked in to come face to face with Talia Hale.


	4. I think I made you up inside my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talia stared at the boy who was... he was something. But at the moment, she was too interested in the fact that he looked like he lived under a bridge and smelled like ozone and suffering.

Laura had run to her mother with Cora, when they paused to hear shouting. 

"PETER!" It was the boy. 

"Uncle Peter?" Cora asked Laura quietly.

The next name's were Scott, and Lydia, but those held little meaning for them. And then Derek.

"Derek and Peter?" Cora asked, worriedly. 

"We should go tell mom." Laura stood, all power and grace, commanding.

Cora scrambled up, following and grabbing her ball. She fell in line behind her sister in the air of Pack business. Looks like soccer tryouts would have to wait.

Laura was fast, taking the porch steps by two and calling for her mother, Cora hot on her heels, and putting the ball away so she wouldn't fall behind.

Talia was there in an instant, looking to her daughters with worry.

"What's wrong?" Talia asked.

"There was some homeless kid, and-and he was crying in the woods and I hit him in the stomach with my soccer ball and then he looked at Laura and me and ran away screaming!" Cora babbled.

Talia blinked. "Screaming?" she finally asked slowly.

"For Peter, and Derek," Laura said, shooting Cora a look. Cora dunked her head in shame for stealing Laura's thunder, before looking back to her mom.

"Peter!" Talia called.

Peter's sigh gave him away and he walked from the hallway leading to the library. He gave them all innocent looks, as if he wasn't listening to the whole thing. 

"Some strange kid in the woods was calling my name? That sounds like a Deaton thing, not a me thing." Peter stated.

Talia rolled her eyes. "Fine," she stated. "You'll be coming with us, though."

"Of course," he groaned, like the petulant five year he really was.

 

Talia stood to leave, Deaton having no clue what it meant. And that's when the door flung open.

Talia stared at the boy who was... he was something. But at the moment, she was too interested in the fact that he looked like he lived under a bridge and smelled like ozone and suffering.

"It's him!" Cora exclaimed.

"Him?" the boy said stiffly. "No! Not him! Oh my God, no. This is a nightmare. Deaton!" The boy called.

Deaton peaked in, raising a brow. "Can I help you?"

The boy gave him a bitch face before rolling his eyes, slipping into the clinic and moving a few steps away from blocking the entrance.

"Deaton, your bathroom smells like cigarettes and wet dog--who's that?" Peter came in, drying his hands.

The kid got this crushed look on his face, before sucking his cracked dry lower lip into his mouth and trying to seem natural.

"You said your name was Stiles, right?" Laura asked soothingly.

"Ye-yeah," he stammered out, before holding out a dirty hand that was shaking.

"I'm Laura, that's my sister Cora, and my mother, Talia and our uncle, Peter." she said softly, taking his hand in her own firm grip. His grip was just as firm, and he shook it once before dropping the hand.

"Why'd you call for me?" Peter asked.

Stiles looked to him immediately, bright amber eyes tinged red rimmed from crying, a dirty face and... The man was still beautiful.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he stated coolly, no blip in his heart, making the wolves tense up. He was a seasoned liar.

"You, uh, can we get you some fresh clothes? Maybe a nice meal?" Talia asked.

Stiles mouth worked and he gave Deaton a desperate look, before turning it to Peter. Peter's mouth worked before he gave a welcoming smile.

Slowly, the kid nodded, letting Laura pull him towards her and bundle him in her arms like a baby bird. He sent a pleading look to Peter before relaxing his shoulders a little and letting himself rest, inch by inch.

The Hales sent Deaton a smile and carted him off.

 

Stiles sat in their kitchen, looking the place over with awe and Laura just wanted to make him her baby duckling. He had a bowl of warm soup next to him and Talia was preparing a guest bedroom for him.

He may not have mentioned his parents probably waiting on him.

"Stiles, right?" Eric asked slowly, as if Stiles was a wild animal.

Stiles eyes landed on him and slowly nodded in affirmation. He picked up the spoon with a grimy hand and brought a spoonful of chicken noodle soup to his cracked and scabbed lips.

"I'm Eric, Talia's oldest child." Eric smiled.

Stiles nodded again.

Laura smiled and looked to Eric. "We get to keep him!" she said excitedly before looking to Stiles with a wolfish grin.

"Keep me?" Stiles asked as he brought up another spoonful. One of his eye brows raised and his lips were quirked.

"Yeah," Laura smiled at him, like he was the cutest puppy ever.

Stiles tipped his head back and laughed, a full body laugh.

"Who told you that?" He asked.

"My mom said that your going to stay here until we figure how to get you in a secure home." Laura said dutifully, lying only a little.

"I have a home, its just," Stiles paused and Laura almost teared up at the emotions coming from him.

She promptly enveloped him in her arms. He was stiff at first before melting and hugging her back, chuckling. "Stilinski hugs are the best." He murmured into her hair.

"Stilinski?" Laura asked.

"As in the old sheriff and his wife?" Eric asked.

"Uh huh," Stiles agreed, stuffing in more soup. "Tell me about those two," he says casually.

"Claudia and Tom Stilinski are fine examples of this community, Claudia does biannual bake sales and Tom volunteers all the time for little fix it jobs. He and his wife had one child who died in a car accident with his grandparents, there were no survivors. Sadly." Laura explained, watching Stiles face and heartbeat stay in the same nonchalant expression.

"I heard they never found his body," Cora slid over, sitting directly next to Stiles, between him and Eric.

"They didn't?" he asked, slowly, mulling this over. Or feigning interest.

"Anyway, it was really sad for them, it really affected this whole town at the death of a child." Eric said.

"Really now?" Stiles bitterly grumbled, causing Eric and Cora to blink in surprise and Laura to move back a little.

"I didn't mean that as a bash or anything! Its just-- Trust me when I say a lot of bad things happened that didn't." Stiles aggressively ate more soup, before picking up the bowl and knocking the rest back. "Thanks for the meal, now I need to talk to Deaton."

"Mr. Stilinski, you aren't going any where." Kevin Hale came into the room.

Stiles stiffened, every muscle bunching. "Excuse me?" He asked.

"The Sheriff will be here soon," Kevin shrugged.

Laura blinked at Stiles, before he stood and made a run for it. He didn't even get a chance to ask Deaton his questions yet, fuck.

Eric and Kevin were human, not fast enough to catch the kid who's probably been running his whole life and Laura couldn't go after him. Too stunned.

Cora barely managed before stopping and sighing, giving daggers to her father who sighed and cursed himself for being so stupid.

* * *

 

Stiles plowed into Peter, sighing at the familiar face. "Peter," he breathed.

"Can we talk?" Peter asked.

"Take me somewhere private and my attention is all yours," Stiles said, albeit a little breathlessly.

Peter nodded, waving Stiles forward and starting towards the back door. Stiles rushed to follow, easily keeping pace with the werewolf.

Said werewolf stopped deep in the preserve, turning to Stiles and displaying his hands. "You know me." Peter stated. "I don't know you. Why is that?"

"That's a very long story, which I will explain when I see Deaton." Stiles ground out.

Peter nodded. "You're also my mate, care to explain that?"

"What?" Stiles blurted. "Mate? For real? That explains so fucking much," Stiles groaned.

Peter rose a brow. "Explain what?" he asked, stepping closer.

Stiles swallowed and shrugged, hand coming up to smooth over Peters chest, slowly, as if really seeing it for the first time. "Peter," Stiles looked up, sounding wrecked, and like a child calling for his mother.

"What? What do you need?" Peter asked, cooing and pulling the smaller man to his chest. It was like some sappy romance novel, but Peter didn't care, because this was his mate. His mate needed him.

"I need you to take me to Deaton's. Please." Stiles whispered.

 

Stiles threw open the car door as soon as Peter pulled up, grinning a 1000 watt smile to said man before running to the doors.

"Deaton!" Stiles called, waiting for a response.

"It's you, again," Deaton said, blinking in surprise. The door opened and Peter joined him.

"I need your help, I need to get home, its your fault I'm even here in the first place." Stiles pointed a threatening finger.

Deaton blinked. "Oh?" he asked.

"I'm from an alternate time line." Stiles stated.

"Oh." Deaton's face got serious. Thank fuck.


	5. you never have to justify on how you choose to survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gave them each a sad look, making Cora sink a little. "Uh, I should start by saying our worlds are reversed. I mean, my story is the everyone dies one and yours is everyone lives." Stiles managed weakly.

Deaton sighed at the boy in front of him, who had given him a rough description of what happened, what spell he thought he used and such.

Peter sat with the two others, hands clasped and breathing in deeply, leaning just a fraction closer to Stiles. Stiles who was tapping his pen and giving Deaton dirty looks.

"Yes, I can see your problem." Deaton looked to Stiles. "And I'm guessing that I was your emissary back in your world as well?"

"You were, until you died." Stiles nodded. "I just thought since the Hales were here, you'd be better off."

Deaton blinked in surprise before nodding. "If you dont mind my asking, what happened?"

"I killed you. You helped us a lot, dont get me wrong, but it had to be done. You were killing innocents..." Stiles frowned. "It brought me no joy killing you, I looked up to you, even if you are a cryptic douche bag."

"Right, of course. Thank you, I guess." Deaton gave him a puzzled look.

"Now, how do I get home?" Stiles stated. Peter whimpered in the back of his throat, giving Stiles a helpless look.

"I'll need to make some phone calls and do some research, but other than that, you might be home within the month," Deaton smiled at him.

Peter whimpered again, hand twitching for Stiles, making Stiles place his hand over the others long fingers. Stiles gave him a smile, and Peter so desperately wants to melt into it, but he can't. Not with the knowledge his mate, who smells of cinnamon and peaches, is planning to leave him high and dry.

"In the mean time, you should stay with Peter," Deaton offered. "I'll call Talia and explain."

"Thank you," Stiles stated, taking his hand away from Peters. Peter made a sad noise and Stiles rolled his eyes.

If Peter got too attached, he wouldn't be able to accept that Stiles was leaving and his Mate was dead. It's almost cruel, doing this to Peter. Giving him a taste of something he can never have. He wonders about his own Peter who leans into the touches Stiles and him exchange, how he always had that private smile. Now he didn't even know if his Peter was alive.

The thought had him shying away from this Peter, feeling like a dick if he were to fill the hole with a replacement. It wouldn't be fair.

"Come on," Stiles stated blandly, unsure of how to deal with the conflict.

Peter stood, guiding Stiles towards his car so they could leave. Stiles followed, calling a bye to Deaton, getting a little grunt of acknowledgement in return for his efforts.

 

The Hales must have been informed because when he got to the Hale house the sheriff wasn't there and neither was his mom or dad.

It hurt to look at them, seeing them all happy and together, without him. Knowing that wasn't his. His family was dead. Last night killed them all.

"Stiles," Laura said and immediately wrapped her arms around him and clung to him. "You're kind of an asshole." She murmured into his shoulder.

"I know," Stiles grumbled back, before they pulled apart and she hit him on the arm.

"What are we like in your world?" Cora started as soon as it looked like the moment was over.

"Cora!" Talia chastised, frowning disapprovingly.

 Stiles gave them each a sad smile, making Cora sink a little. "Uh, I should start by saying our worlds are reversed. I mean, my story is the everyone dies one and yours is everyone lives." Stiles managed weakly.

Talia frowned. "You don't have to talk about it," she assured.

"It's just that I don't see the point in talking about something that doesn't matter." Stiles smiled lightly, trying to play it off.

"It does mean something," Peter stated. "I want to know what your going home to."

"I do too," Stiles frowned. What if everyone was dead?

* * *

 

Stiles sat in his trashy motel room when his phone rang. He sneered at it and toyed with the thought of smashing it into oblivion before he finally answered.

"What?" he snapped.

"Hey, so, I heard you were back in Beacon Hills. Thought you said you were never going back?" Aiden's voice filtered in.

"I'm in Oregon." Stiles said, dubious. The company he keeps is so stupid, he should have killed him like he'd killed his brother.

"Well, there's a long lost, newly found Stiles parading around Beacon Hills, cuddling up to the local pack." Aiden told him, almost mockingly.

"It's not me, that's for damn sure. Looks like I may just be returning yet." And then he ended the call.

So, someone's trying to take his old life? Stiles sighed.

After the crash, he watched his grandparents die in front of him, unable to get his seatbelt off to reach the phone he had sat there and waited, crying the whole time.

Eventually a wolf came to eat their remains and when Stiles tried to run, the wolf had shifted to a person with glowing red eyes.

Stiles was bitten and raised as a wolf for a couple years before taken out to the streets. Since then, life had been hell. He found himself too warped to go home, to see his mom and dad, because he's a monster. Let his memory die in peace with them.

But it seems some assholes just don't get it. He dug his claws into his palm, wincing at the sting before it healed up and he focused to not tear the room apart.

He just wanted one. Fucking. Thing.

Whoever was doing this was going to have his intestines ripped out so he could be strangled with them. They deserved it. He would get pay back for this.

Quickly, Stiles started shoving things in his bag to go. Never a time like the present.


	6. For a moment there was nothing, and then he started to show me things...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fae had attacked because they had heard the pack of Beacon Hills was invincible. They wanted to eat the power of the pack. Fae were assholes, he thought bitterly.
> 
> He found they're sensitive to iron and lemon juice. Either or both can and will kill them.
> 
> Stiles had never felt so alone in his life. Was there anything for him to go back to? Did they eat everyone he loved? He winced. If he found their bodies, he'd bury them. They deserved that much, a proper burial.

Stiles tossed and turned in the bed he was in. He kept reaching for someone, like he has been since the pack moved in together. He almost screamed in frustration when he did for the umpteenth time.

He threw the covers off and trudged up and out the door. He didn't slam the door, as opposed to close it a smidge loudly. 

A door opened and Stiles darted in, already knowing it was Peter. Turning, the older smiled welcoming and tugged lightly on Stiles arm. Stiles could be selfish, just for tonight.

He deserved it. Besides, better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, or something like that. 

... Right?

Stiles curled into bed with Peter, letting the warmth of a werewolf soak into him. And then he was crying, sobbing into the mattress. God, everyone he loved was dead and he abandoned them. He had left them, and he would never get them back.

His insides hurt, his muscles ached and all his cuts and bruises pulsed, and his eyes stung and his throat felt clogged, and oh God, he wished he'd died too.

He'd just left everyone, left Scott. Left his brother, his family to be torn apart and eaten.

Stiles should have been there for them, should have tried to get them out, should have fought. He didn't even know what spell he used, he'd screwed everyone over.

The thoughts kept pouring in and Peter held him through it. Cooed in his ear, whispered encouragement, whined in hurt for Stiles. The soft nuzzles were for comfort and small drags of his hand on Stiles arm, back, chest, were all trying to coax him into sleep. To stop thinking and just let the darkness swallow him.

And, somehow finally, Stiles stopped letting sobs wrack his body, in favor of sleepy whimpers.

 

Stiles worked with Deaton through the week, looking up everything on resurrections and fae.

The fae had attacked because they had heard the pack of Beacon Hills was invincible. They wanted to eat the power of the pack. Fae were assholes, he thought bitterly.

He found they're sensitive to iron and lemon juice. Either or both can and will kill them.

Stiles had never felt so alone in his life. Was there anything for him to go back to? Did they eat everyone he loved? He winced. If he found their bodies, he'd bury them. They deserved that much, a proper burial.

Resurrection was minimal and they all said he'd need a necromancer. Someone who rooted their power in the undead. Or a banshee, who could hold the soul until the body was ready to be used again.

Deaton tapped Stiles shoulder, drawing him away from the book.

"Can you and Scott make a trip to the store to get feed? He can't lift it all by himself and our shipment just came in." Deaton raised a brow in inquiry.

Stiles worked his mouth before nodding and moving towards the back.

Up to this point, Stiles hadn't really seen Scott, just because Deaton told Scott not to distract him and Stiles was picked up by Peter. Stiles actually hadn't seen anyone besides the Hales and Deaton this past week.

He wondered how much of an uproar this caused for his parents, that their newly found son was gone again, but he wasn't too worried.

Information was slow coming and Deaton didn't have many books on the subjects he needed. It seemed a lot of people were hesitant to give information because of some rumor that Stiles was a doppleganger.

Scott stood there awkwardly waiting and Stiles sucked in a breath. His hair was slightly different and he looked less weathered, but he was Scott.

"Hey, I'm Scott," Scott offered a smile and Stiles smiled back as well.

"I'm, uh, St-Stan." Best not to say Stiles, in case he recognizes the name.

"Stan, cool, ready to go?" Scott asked and Stiles nodded.

 

The ride wasn't silent, more like Scott and Stiles became best friends immediately just by natural conversation on the weather which turned into quoting movies which turned to video games and so on and so forth.

At the store, Scott talked about how the clinic was a great work experience and how Deaton was writing a letter of recommendation to a college. Stiles nodded, smiling sadly. His Scott had started in construction, all the guys had, except Peter. And Danny, who worked as the bartender at Jungle.

Lydia had taken over in the vet clinic, able to falsify her qualifications while taking a crash course in veterinary class. The need for the clinic was important, they couldn't lose it.

Stiles froze at the thought of Lydia and turned to Scott.

"So, Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore?" he asked.

Scotts face dropped a little before shrugging. "Popular kids, bullies, uh, I mean, dont get me wrong I'm not one who really judges people, but those two were the power couple in high school. They both got accepted to Ivy League schools..."

Stiles grinned. "Good for them." He stated honestly.

"How'd you know about those two?" Scott asked, confusion clouding his puppy face.

"The Hale family, they gossip," Stiles shrugged, the lie easy.

Scott laughed and they went to the back, where the feed was.

They managed to get a long dolly cart, loading it up and pushing it out to the car.

"Do you guys need a hand?" A familiar voice floated over.

Scott turned with a wide smile. "Isaac!" he greeted. But his smile faltered when he saw the other.

Isaac Lahey looked much the same, except for the bruises covering his face and the scars all around his hands and cheeks. He was marred.

"Dude, you need to get away from your dad," Stiles let the words slip. He knew his Isaac would have sassed him, would have wanted Stiles to help. He knew Isaac, even if they didn't really get along. And like hell Stiles would encourage abuse.

Isaac froze, before a defeated look crumpled his face and he glared at Scott and Stiles. "Excuse me?"

"N-No, its just, uh, Isaac this is Stan." Scott sighed, looking guilty and small. Poor boy couldn't say anything else, Stiles was sure.

"I mean, all you gotta do... You should tell the Stilinski's. They can help," Stiles leaned forward so as if to block Scott from hearing. "Especially if you tell them Stiles sent you."

Isaac frowned before shrugging. "Whatever."

"When it gets too bad, you know where to go," Stiles shrugged, pulling away and looking unbothered.

Isaac nodded, dunking his head, as if he could see what Stiles was trying to do. 

Stiles smiled wanly.

"The, uh, help," Isaac mumbled, reaching for the bags of kibble.

Slowly they loaded all of the various kinds of food into the trunk. It seemed like there was more than they had originally got and Stiles cursed all his aching muscles and slowly healing wounds for all the protesting that was happening.

Stiles looked to Isaac, meeting his eyes. Isaac huffed but nodded, stalking away without a goodbye.

"The Hale's gossip too much," Scott snapped, slamming his car door. Stiles shrugged again, slowly climbing in and letting Scott fume.

* * *

Stiles had left as quickly as he could, managing to California in no time. The rumors of the _doppelganger_ were surrounding him now, and he wasn't excited to deal with the issue.

He stared at the town. It was like nothing had changed, but he could feel it had in some ways.

Slowly, with practiced finesse, he crept through the back alleys, trying to find a way to a motel. If he was going to find his _doppelganger_ , he might as well stay to set the record straight that he wasn't actually Stiles, that he had met the kid, and when said kid had died, he wanted to come here. This whole event seemed a little surreal, but he knew this was his life now, and that he had to kill or be killed. That was the only way to survive.

And right now, survival was telling him to kill, lest unwanted attention be drawn to this small town. He hadn't gone through fucking hell and back for some fucking _asshole_ to ruin everything. That wasn't happening. Not now, not ever. The only solution was to eviscerate the other and leave his corpse to rot in the woods while he smoothed everything over with his family. His old family.

Slowly he picked his way to a motel and sighed at the old smoker lady at the counter. "I'd like a room please." He set down a crumpled 50.

She took it and smiled, handing a room key and nodding. "Have a good night," She muttered, taking her time to straighten the bill out.

Stiles trailed to his room and went to room 11, locking the door behind himself and collapsing on the bed, boneless from stress. Just wait until he got his claws in the little bastard. 

He'd tear him apart.

Slowly, Stiles listened in a couple rooms down, checking for any... So to say, neighbors that could help.

"'You did the right thing, telling us.'" Stiles sat up at his fathers voice. What the hell was Tom doing here? At this seedy place?

"'He's not gonna hurt me, right?'" Another, less familiar voice wavered.

"'If he tries, we'll be throwing him right back in jail with assault.'" his father continued.

"'Okay...'" The other agreed.

"'And you said Stiles told you to tell me?'" Tom asked, his own voice unsteady at the mention of his _SUPPOSED TO BE_ deceased son.

"'Yeah, I met him at Callahans. With Scott McCall.'" The other nodded.

"'Right, well, I'm gonna go down to the station... if you need me, call.'" And Stiles paused, listening as the door closed, as the guy shuffled around, TV flickering on after a couple minutes. Listened as his father started the car and drove away, probably to review the security camera footage. 

After a couple more minutes, Stiles stood and grabbed his cell phone. He was in luck, this lead just waltzed right in and he couldn't believe he stumbled on this.

Slowly, he exited his room and managed to find this other guys door, room 4. 

Stiles knocked a couple times before waiting, listening as the guy shuffled around, as if debating whether to answer the door or not. The poor boys heart was about to beat out of his chest. Stiles felt no real sympathy.

Finally, an _eternity_ later, the door cracked open and a blue eye landed on him. 

It opened wider as recognition swept his face and he smiled a little. 

"Hey, Stan... Or should I say Stiles?" The guy said. Stiles pushed in, closing the door behind him and shoving the guy back a little, locking the door for good measures. 

"What's going on?" He demanded.

"That's what I'm wondering." Stiles sneered, advancing. The guy scurried back, as if to find an escape, but Stiles was faster, shoving the man into a wall and pinning him with a hand enclosed around the guys neck. "I'll snap your neck if you try anything."

The other stilled.

"What's your name?" Stiles demanded, letting his grip ease a little.

"I-Isaa-" He managed before Stiles cut off air supply again. 

"Isaac," He said, rolling it around before nodding. "Tell me something." Stiles leaned forward, almost comical. "Who's Stan?"


	7. The whole point of life is learning to live with the consequences of the bad decision we've made.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Excuse me, this seat taken?" Stiles slinked over, wearing something entirely different.
> 
> His eyes were harder and his blue Henley was pressed to his more toned body. A pair of dark jeans rode low on his hips. He was sex on two legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Stiles is our Stiles. Because he's not from that world. The Stiles of that world is Stiles. Just to clarify.

Stiles swallowed hard as Peter pinned him to the wall, trailing kisses down his jaw. He couldn't find his words at the moment. They seemed to be lodged in his throat.

Everything Peter was doing felt wrong. Too soft, too careful, like he might break and he wanted--no needed to get away. But he couldn't get the word out.

The one word to make Peter draw back, and leave and maybe Stiles was a little scared of being alone. Maybe thats why his throat felt thick.

It was like a nightmare, or a bad dream. He wanted Peter. But he wanted his Peter, not this one.

"Stop," Stiles finally managed, voice watery and more of a whimper than anything. "Peter, stop."

Peter was pulling back and away in an instant and that action alone made the feeling in Stiles stomach grow. The bad feeling stretch over his nerves.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked softly, searching Stiles face. Stiles quickly turned away, shaking his head.

"I can't," he warbled, the beginning of a sob. "I'm sorry, I really am, but you're not who I want. And I'm not really who you want..."

A silence stretched as Peter put it together.

"I'm not your Peter." He stated dumbly.

"No, you're not." Stiles agreed. He could feel his fingers twisting together, trying to find something to do with his sweaty hands. 

"Okay," Peter nodded, though obviously hurt. He smiled a plastic smile and Stiles wanted to groan. Leave it to Peter to make his heart hurt over doing the right thing.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whimpered. "Let's just go to lunch, okay?"

Peter nodded, a little detached. He stared fixated over Stiles shoulder, to the wall.

Way to go, Stilinski, Stiles thought bitterly.

 

Peter was quiet while they drove to the diner. It was awkward and silent and everything about hanging out with the other felt off. It made a churning feeling in Stiles gut start up. Something felt off about this whole day. Something was off.

 They awkwardly got out and chose a table, muttering their orders to the waitress.

Peter bunched his nose a little and looked around before rolling his eyes.

"You're scent is in this place. I swear, you've been here so long it clings to everything now." He said, a little hurt and contrite in the words.

Stiles sighed. Well than, he thought to himself, I guess I'm a jerk now.

 

Stiles pushed away his basket of fries, making a noise. "I'm going to be sick." he concluded, and stood, running towards the bathroom.

Peter blinked before looking at the fries. Wow, Peter thought, Food poisoning.

"Excuse me, this seat taken?" Stiles slinked over, wearing something entirely different.

His eyes were harder and his blue Henley was pressed to his more toned body. A pair of dark jeans rode low on his hips. He was sex on two legs.

"Stiles, what the hell?" he asked.

"Good, so you know me. Who's the asshole you're here with impersonating me?" Stiles narrowed his eyes. "I spiked his fries, he'll be in there for awhile. Enough time for you to explain what the actual fuck is going on."

Peter felt his eyes go comically wide and he could feel it. The much stronger mate bond he had with this Stiles. His Stiles.

"I thought you were dead." Peter managed. "B-But you're not."

Stiles, his Stiles, rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm not dead. But you will be if you don't tell me what's going on."

"I can see how this is bad for you. I-I'm Peter. Stiles, the not you Stiles, is from a different world. He... He ran into some trouble and is kind of... Kind of asking the Hale family for help. And I found out that you, you Stiles, are my mate." Peter mumbled. "Uh, how is that? By the way? The-The 'you being alive' part, I mean."

Stiles gave pause. And kept giving that pause until he blinked a little and Stiles, not Stiles, came back. Not Stiles who didn't even look surprised, a little annoyed, a little relief, but no surprise. Maybe stuff like this happens to him often.

"Peter... I know I said no... But finding someone who looks like me isn't healthy." Not Stiles Stiles stated.

"Is he not your mate?" Stiles looked to Not Stiles Stiles.

"Not mine directly. His Peter, sure. I'm not his Peter though." Peter explained. "I'm your Peter."

Stiles blinked and Peter catalogued that as one of the cutest things he'd ever seen. The owlish blink, like a deer caught in the head lights. Peter would have laughed at Derek or Laura if they had gone through this, but...

"I... I don't think so, old man," Stiles sneered after a second, and the next moment he had clutched at his heart. Peter could hear the painful thuds before it started to jack rabbit. His own was moving a bit faster because of all the rejection, but Stiles, his Stiles, hadn't experienced it yet. The rejection.

"I may reconsider..." His Stiles murmured and sighed as his heart started to even out. He hadn't experienced any of it. Peter was almost excited to go through this with him. Though the violent look in his eyes said that he wasn't as mushy as Peter would like to believe.

"That's your wolf. The reason that happened. It can feel the tug," Peter said lowly. Fighting a wide smile. "It doesn't like rejection. No one likes rejection."

Stiles glared at Peter, like he could start a fire with just his eyes and Peter smiled brightly, because at least he was getting some attention from his mate. At least he's alive. He may be damaged, more or equally so to the one watching them in minor interest, but he was alive. Maybe... Maybe Not Stiles Stiles Peter was dead, and how crushing must that be for him. To survive and have spent time with him but never further it. Because some higher power wouldn't let them be together.

Peter waved Not Stiles Stiles on and he moved to sit in another seat, still looking a little green, but seemingly okay.

"So, you heard about me being here and came to tie up the rumors, huh?" Not Stiles Stiles asked, raising a brow. Geez, this guy, what had made him so okay with seeing a doppelganger here that looked murderous.

"I plan on killing you, yes," Stiles looked to the other. What had Peter just said about murderous.

"Understandable." Not Stiles nodded.

"I _planned_ blowing town afterwards as well." Stiles rolled his eyes, giving Peter a pointed look. "But, it seems like Fate has something else planned."

Not Stiles swallowed, a dark expression crossing his face. "I don't believe in fate." He murmured lowly. Stiles raised a brow, almost like he wanted to ask. But his expression shut down too fast.

"You better start believing in something." Stiles shot back. "And start praying. Because you've fucked a lot of things up for me."

"And we'll get there. But for now, with your help this time... Can you help me find a way home?" Not Stiles asked seriously.


	8. Everyone is in pain no matter where they come from or what you think of them sorrow spares no one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd go home. He had an idea and he prayed, he prayed hard it would work.

Weeks had passed, no results had come up. Stiles was almost afraid to think about being stuck here for months.

He sighed, watching the Stiles of this world tentatively tilt his head towards Peter, watching him cautiously and Peter soothing over his ruffled feathers easily. It was sad and depressing to watch. Knowing this would never be his, knowing he could never have this. Because, yeah, sue him, he wanted that too.

He just...

Stiles swallowed hard, looking back down at his book. The words were blurred and he realized belatedly he was crying. A wet chuckle struggled up from him and he wiped hazardously at his face. Way to go Stilinski, Stiles thought yet again.

It wasn't even about a romantic relationship anymore. Whatever was going on back home, whatever had happened... It was going to ruin him and he knew it.

He stood, moving away from watching and reading on the porch, to walking into the woods.

This wasn't his.

He needed to breathe, to calm down.

This would never be his. Sure, it hurt to think about leaving, sure he might not have _anything_ to go back to. Sure, there's only pain where he's planning on returning. But its his, and he just... He can't live like this anyway.

He wasn't calming down.

He had to go home. An idea hit him and he prayed, he prayed hard it would work in the course of the next few minutes.

Because he might be killed if it doesn't.

The things he does for love, he mused. Wondered if anyone was going to be waiting for him. The feeling of fear and excitement swirled around. What if they had? What if... What if there was something to go home to?

Maybe this would work, and he'd see everyone who survived, and everything would be okay.

All he needed was to rile the other Stiles up, and he knew that wasn't gonna be too hard.

A smile tugged at his face, and he started back towards them.

 

Stiles looked at the Stiles of this world watching Peter like a wild animal would watch its captor. It was laughable, in a way.

So was this next part though, Stiles shrugged internally.

"Hey! Stiles! It's later! Are you gonna kill me or not?" Stiles taunted, wide grin on his face, leering. He had a good chunk of fear in him, but he couldn't let them know. That might botch his plan.

Peter froze a little, stopping whatever he was doing to give Stiles a wide eyed look. Other Stiles gave a predatory smile, eyes glinting a blue before he seemed to see the opportunity that was present. Falling into the trap laid out.

"I mean, you're practically begging me. It'd only be right." He murmured as he stood, and the next second Stiles was about to be pounced. Note to self, Stiles is fast. Fast and strong. "Besides, you don't have much to live for anyway."

Peter watched in horror, looking conflicted in the present situation as Stiles dodged another lunge from Other Stiles. Claws nearly broke skin and Stiles skittered back, almost falling, but not.

"You can do better than that, can't you?" Stiles huffed, laughing. Almost a worried one, but he swallowed that down. Not fearing for his life just yet. He needed that tidal wash of power and fear for this stupid spell to work. So it'd come back to him.

"Shut up," Other Stiles snapped, lunging again and claws bit into his side this time, causing a razor smile to take over his mouth. 

It stung a bit, but not too bad. Nothing Stiles couldn't shake off and continue on with. He could look at it later, anyway.

"That's one way to do it." And Stiles started running, hoping Other Stiles was in the mood to give chase. Life or death adrenaline hadn't kicked in yet, so Stiles didn't feel in danger. Mild pain, but no danger.

Other Stiles did in fact go after him. Quick. Fast...

An image of pale figures darting through trees flashed in his mind and Stiles heart stuttered, started beating unevenly in panic.

There that adrenaline was.

And like that, Greek words choked out of his mouth and the world fell out from under him. He prayed he was going home.

Because, at the moment, that's all he could rely on.

A prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how I'm gonna end it


End file.
